


Seeing is Believing

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9398933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: Clint Barton is a Deep Cover Agent for SHIELD. This means no one but Nick has ever met him, but Phil's been working with the man for years. He's very jealous of Nick, and when the opportunity comes to bring Barton in from deep cover, Phil isn't letting it slip away.(also, Nick Fury has a cat)





	

“Agent, I think I’m in love with you,” Barton says quietly, almost a whisper. “No one else leaves me arrows in the safe house.”

“You know we’re only on comms because your visuals are going to be bad no matter what, right? And why doesn’t anyone else leave you arrows? They’re what you prefer,” Phil replied.

“What I prefer are strong, capable, and hot men who don’t order me to my death, but three out of four ain’t bad, Agent,” Barton said, even quieter than the first time.

Phil was surprised when he flushed with embarrassment at Barton’s assessment, but he gathered himself in time to retort, “You’ve never seen me, so who said I was hot?” The chuckle Phil got in return was worth it. Barton was too tightly wound; Phil could tell from his voice. Of course, he also wasn’t always on comms with a handler, so it could be that, too.

 Clint Barton was a deep cover agent. He was so deep cover that only Phil, Fury, Hill, and Sitwell knew his real name. Only Fury had ever met him. There were three other agents of Barton’s status in SHIELD, and Phil didn’t like it. He wanted to know his agents, to learn strengths and weaknesses in person, to learn how to talk to them, to learn how they thought beyond missions so that he could use that in-mission. Deep cover agent status made that difficult.

The screen in front of him showed three heat signatures beyond the gate. He reported that to Barton and added, “They’re listed in the file as using Colts, but I have new Intel that suggests at least two of them are showing a propensity for those new Hammer assault rifles. They’re a shade more accurate, so keep that in mind. They’re also easier to handle.”

“Thanks, boss,” Barton murmured.

Phil watched through binoculars as he scaled the twelve-foot wall as if it were a kiddie gym, and glanced back down at the heat signatures. They winked out before anyone could get a gunshot off. This is why Barton is considered the best of the deep cover agents.

Phil had to admit that he fantasized about Barton the most. He imagined meeting all of their deep cover agents in person, and had imagined a few conversations or evening dinners where he got to know all of them, but Barton showed up the most in his dreams. Just last week, while prepping for this mission while Barton was in the city gathering his own intel, Phil had woken from a dream with “Clint” on his lips. He had no idea what Barton looked like up close, had only ever seen him from a distance with a tac suit and head gear on, but he imagined laughing eyes and a sharp chin he could jut out in defiance, and a body so flexible he could still be the circus performer he used to be, according to his file.

Phil blinks, and as Barton gets close to their target he guides him through – lock security codes, building layout, target movement, anything Barton needs to get in, shoot one of the worst human traffickers SHIELD has ever targeted, and gets him out.

“Sit rep, Agent,” Phil demands as Barton leaves the compound and his heat signature that Phil has been following for the last hour fades as Barton gets distance from their scanner.

Barton’s breathing heavily. “Target eliminated, level 1 extraneous damage, and no tail on me. We’re good, boss.”

“What about your status?” Phil asks. There’s no answer for a moment.

“You’re the only one who asks that, you know,” Barton says. “Comm’s going to bug out in two minutes, by the way.”

  
“I know that,” Phil answers. “And you’re deflecting. Do you need medical attention? You can use your Daniel Stanton alias. That’s the cleanest one right now.” Phil kept track of all of their agents’ aliases. He had Barton's memorized. Sometimes he scanned news outlets and police reports around the world for alias names. He doesn’t have to, but he tries to keep as close to them as he can.

“No, I’m okay. Bullet graze to the left hip, a couple of cuts gonna need stitched, but I can take care of it.” There was a pause, and then, “Give me the email drop I need to send my report to?”

Phil told him.

“All right boss, looks like I’ve got about forty-five seconds to get this piece of metal out of my ear. Thanks for getting me through tonight. You’re actually the best SHIELD has for me.”

“It’s a pleasure working with you as usual, Barton. I’ll let Fury know how well this went.”

“Maybe he could bring me in from the cold sometime if I’m so good,” Barton said, and his voice was laced with bitterness.

This was new information that Phil tucked away. “You’re definitely good. Do you have the new emergency code?”

“No.”

Phil gave it to him. “I hope you don’t have to use it, agent. I want the chance to meet you.”

Phil could swear Barton sighed on the other end of the line. “I’m outta here, boss. I’m not sure I want to meet you, though. I’m not sure I could handle it. Have a good stretch until next time we work together, though. It’s always too long.”

The comm made the small warning beep, and then it was gone, self-destructed in a gutter or something, and Phil was left with silence and a racing heart. Tonight was different. Something was off.

<><><><><> 

 

“He sounded tired,” Phil said, around a bite of hamburger. Jasper sat across from him and was thumbing through the printout of Barton's report.

He looked up sharply at Phil. “He was post-mission. Of course he was tired,” Jasper said. He narrowed his eyebrows. “You’re worried about him?”

Phil shrugged and couldn’t deny it. “You know I mostly think all of our agents should be based here.”

“You ‘mostly think’? Is that a thing?”

“I understand the basic reason to keep them invisible, but I think that the drawbacks are clear. If he needs help he could get it. We could get to know them better, make it easier to work with them...”

“We could find out if they’re hot…”.

“Shut up, Jasper.”

Sitwell snickered, but it was good-natured. “I agree, actually. I’ll bet Barton is incredibly hot.”

Phil sighed and went back to his hamburger.

<><><><><><> 

 

The next time he worked with Barton things didn’t go quite as smoothly.

“I lost eyes on you!” Phil called, scowling at his screens. Barton’s heat signature was gone, and the hotel security cameras, not that great to begin with, were blinking out as well.

“I know,” Barton replied, sounding breathless, “They’ve got some kind of dampener. I’m almost in, though. This room is more secret than secret with this lock,” he said.

“You can do it, though, right?” Phil asked as his own heart raced. “We need that box.”

“I know, I know,” Barton said. “You know I can do it.”

It was true. Barton was their best lock pick, as well as their best sniper, as well as at least their second best undercover infiltrator. But this lock was, perhaps, the most important he’d been assigned.

“You’re working blind, Barton. I don’t have any idea who or what’s coming your way.”

“I can handle it, boss,” Barton replied.

Phil didn't doubt it. There was something about Barton’s voice that made him crazy in the best way. He’d actually considered “borrowing” a recording of their missions just to listen to him as much as he wanted. Confidence was a big part of it. Barton always sounded like he was ready for anything, even when he was flying blind or flying off of a building to escape. That confidence worked together with his wit to create an image of a charming guy Phil would love to get to know. Jasper could joke all he wanted, but Phil was convinced Barton was hot in some way.

Gunfire jolted Phil out of his thoughts and his heart raced. “Barton?”

“Still here, boss. Almost in. Took one of them down and I’m sure more are coming…”

Phil heard a click.

“Got it. Got it, dammit,” Barton said, and Phil could hear the relief in his voice.

“Get the hell out of there,” Phil answered. He heard another shot, and then a grunt that he very much didn’t like. “Barton!”

He was helpless. His job was to keep Barton aware of his surroundings and feed him relevant intel, but the security had cut him off from that. He heard the twang of Barton’s bow, though, and then a crash and silence. He waited. He didn’t want to distract Barton from whatever he was having to do, but this, this was what he hated about these agents. He couldn’t send a backup team, he couldn’t go in after him. He was too far away, and these agents didn’t get extraction plans.

So he waited, but the sounds of bullets and fighting were loud in his ears, and since he couldn’t see anything, he found himself starting to pack up around his audio equipment. He felt desperate to get packed, even though protocol called for him staying away from Barton no matter what happened. These agents were not supposed to be helped. They couldn’t be tied to SHIELD, no matter what the cost.

Phil was prepared to ignore that directive, though, when he heard the comm go silent. “Barton, report,” he commanded.

“Fight’s over,” Barton replied, but he sounded like he had swallowed gravel. “I’ll get the box to the drop in . . . Gonna have to give me thirty minutes or so this time, boss.”

Drops like this were usually staged no more than fifteen minutes from the target area. “I’ll delay the pickup, Barton, but tell me what’s going on. What’s your status?”

“Doesn’t matter,” came the reply. “Give me thirty and the box will be there. Tell Fury to give me a month or two this time, before he writes me off.”

The other aspect of agents like Barton was that they occasionally cut and ran from SHIELD. When they did, they usually got shifted to SHIELD’s kill list, and terminated quickly. Phil blew out a breath. “You’re hurt. Let me get you to the hospital – get yourself two blocks west of the drop when you’re done, and I’ll get you picked up. I can get the right paperwork to make you safe.” He thought he could, anyway. He'd never done that for an agent before, but he could. He would. For Barton.

“That’s not how it works, boss. You know that.” This time Barton’s voice was laced with pain.

Phil closed his eyes. “I’ll make it work like that this time. Barton.” He couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice. This was Barton, the kid raised in several circles of hell, but who escaped with a conscience and got onto Fury’s radar because he was caught trying to help a billionaire with a price on his head. Who was already so good at infiltration and sniping because they were the skills that kept him alive from the age of eleven. Who was funny and smart over the comms on missions, and who never asked for anything from SHIELD except its pay checks and the right kind of work. “I’ll get you some help.”

“Comm’s about to go dark, sir,” Barton whispered. “Tell Fury not to write me off. Do that for me, okay?”

Phil nodded, even though Barton couldn’t see him. “You’ve got that, Agent. We won’t write you off.”

“Thanks, and you really are the best to work with. I wish …” Barton said, but the comm beeped and a moment later Phil heard the sound of its self-destruction.

Phil packed up his things, wishing he knew the location of the drop so he could go help, but that’s not how it worked, so he could only wrap up his end of the op and head back to base. He added a commendation to Barton’s file this time, and warned Nick that he’d better give Barton as many months as he needed before taking action. He went back through Barton’s file and memorized everything he hadn’t already. It didn’t help the ache in his heart that wouldn’t go away.

<><><><><><><>

“Coulson, Sir!”

Phil turned around to yell at whoever was calling him. This op had to run in less than fifteen minutes, and an hour ago the guy in charge of the intel for the HYDRA base had called Phil back with a “I’ve got two new things, sir,” which were words Phil Coulson hated more than anything at this stage of the game. He’d been known to fire people for that sentence. He had a full team assembled and briefed, and they had to move in at a very specific time. New things were not permitted.

“Coulson, sir! Emergency code 398512, sir!”

Phil closed his mouth with a snap. That emergency code was a code he memorized and shoved to the very back of his mind because, while he was not prone to assumptions, he did assume he’d never need that one. His brain reacted out of habit, though. “Return code 149862. Tell me.”

The agent giving him the report shook her head incredulously. “Sir, there’s a guy – an agent – blocking our team’s entrance point to the HYDRA base and threatening. . . .sir, he’s threatening to shoot himself if we don’t bring you to him right away. He’s in bad shape, covered in blood and clearly he’s been shot, and all he’ll say is that we have to stop the op and he needs you. He used your code and his code checks out. He’s a deep cover agent.”

Phil took a couple of steadying breaths.

The agent in front of him bit her lip. “Sir, he’s got his gun at his own head. I think he’s serious.”

Phil nodded. “Okay, give me your gun and take me to him.”

They had to walk a ways from the base, and Phil wondered how the agent was keeping his threat up that long, but when they got to the spot in the forest where the team was waiting, Phil stopped short at the sight.

The agent was sitting with his back against a tree, his legs sprawled out in front of him.  He was slumped in a lopsided way that suggested that his left shoulder was injured, and the blood seeping through his uniform confirmed that, but the gun he held to his head was steady, and his blond stubbled jaw was set.

Phil stopped about ten feet away and held his hands up. “Agent Code 096834,” he said, and he watched as the agent’s gun wavered and then he dropped it to the ground next to him with a shudder. He dropped his chin to his chest and sucked in a deep breath.

“You can’t go into that base,” the agent said after a moment, and Phil couldn’t help the step forward he took at the sound of that voice, couldn’t help the way he dropped to his knee in front of Barton and reached out to touch his knee to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He couldn’t help the way he wanted to drink in the sight of him, the way something settled in his chest like he’d finally found something he was missing.

Barton gripped Phil’s hand tightly and repeated, “You can’t go into that base.”

Barton’s face was set, and his eyes bore into Phil’s. His eyes were a kaleidoscope of blue and green and grey and Phil thought they were the easiest eyes to look into that he’d ever seen. His grip was strong, but it wavered as a wave of pain washed over him. Phil’s heart was pounding like it was going to pound out of his chest, so he blew out a breath. “Why not, agent? What’s going on?”

Barton swallowed. “I was sent in ahead when Fury got some intel that suggested that your plan wasn’t going to work – but we needed your team to prep in case we were wrong. Fury didn’t want my attempt to be on any records, so he kept you in the dark. But…” He paused and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Agent, what happened?” Phil used his sharpest voice to try and get him to focus.

Barton nodded. “You know…I took out all of the HYDRA agents. They’re gone.”

“All of them?” Phil couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. “There had to have been at least thirty agents in there.”

Barton nodded. “Yeah. Bunch of amateurs,” he said with an exhausted smile. “They’re not the problem, though. You can't go in guns blazing – I had to stop you. You need to know what’s in there. You need a different team.”

“What kind of team?”

“The kind that has a psych expert and someone trained in 084s,” Barton said, fixing Phil with a glare.

Phil sat back on his heels. “There’s an 084 in that base?”

Barton dropped his chin to his chest again and nodded. “Yeah. It’s a kid, and I – I couldn’t help them. They’re in a cell with a force field, or whatever the tech term is, and –“  Barton stopped and went dangerously pale.

Phil leaned forward. “Barton, hold on, okay?” He turned to the agent who led him here and called, “Get a med team out here, now, and get Thomas and Darrington out here with them.” He turned back to Barton, who had his eyes clenched shut. “Barton, what can they do? The 084, why are they in a cell?”

Barton shrugged and looked back up at Phil. “She, she has some sort of mind – it’s like a weapon. I set foot in the room with the cell and she – she can – I could feel everything. Her fear, her anger, her confusion. It was awful and if a team goes in without knowing… she can move things with her mind, that kid, and she made me feel…. Crazy.” He looked at Phil with desperation in his eyes. “Don’t hurt her. She’s scared, sir. But she’s dangerous, too. I can tell. If your team went in unprepared, I don’t know what she’d do.”

“Can she talk?” Phil asked.

“I don’t know. I got out of there quick. I’m sure as hell not trained for that.”

They were quiet for a moment, and Barton breathed through his mouth around his clenched teeth.

Phil sighed. “You’re trained to take out a HYDRA base alone, though, apparently. Jesus, Barton, you’re a mess this time.”

“Last time, too, if I’m honest, sir,” Barton replied with a shaky laugh. “SHIELD is getting a little rough these days.”

Phil turned to one of his other agents. “Med kit.”

They passed it to him and he pulled out a pressure pack. “It could be ten more minutes or so, and you’re losing too much blood, Barton.”

“You’ve been wanting to patch me up forever, right sir?” Barton asked.

Phil couldn’t hide his grin. “Not my fault you keep getting beat up,” he said as he peeled back Barton’s vest. He used a sterile wipe to get as much of the blood away as he could, the he pressed the pack to the shoulder. Barton groaned. “Sorry, sorry. Just – “ Phil said, but he tightened the bandage.

“Fuck,” Barton breathed. “I may pass out on you, sir,” he whispered.

“Here,” Phil said, and he tried to push Barton so he was laying down and more comfortable, but it only made Barton groan again, and when he was on the ground he writhed in pain. Where Phil had unbuckled Barton’s vest he saw that another bullet had wedged itself at Barton’s waist, right where the vest ended at his pants, above his right thigh. “Dammit,” he muttered.

“You think Fury’ll let me come in this time?”

Phil snapped his gaze back to Barton’s. “What?”

“That med team, are they gonna take me to SHIELD or are they gonna dump me at the nearest hospital and leave me in the wind?” Barton swallowed and panted for a moment, then added, “’cause I don’t know how long I’d last in a public hospital. I’ve got a lot of enemies with eyes in those places.” He paused to suck in a ragged breath. “I’m an easy target if I’m left out in the open.”

Phil opened another pressure pack and peeled Barton’s pants just low enough to get at the other wound. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, Barton. If Fury wants you in the wind he’ll have to go through me to do it.” He pressed the pack to the bullet hole and Barton arched up under it.

He fixed his eyes on Phil and reached up with his hand. Phil took it and ignored how tightly Barton gripped. Phil took a moment to stare at the man he’d been wondering about for years. Blond hair was sticking out from under his dark hat and that was a surprise. Phil wasn’t sure why blond was surprising, but it was. His eyes were clenched shut at the moment, and Phil saw suntanned skin and a softer jawline than he’d imagined. His mouth was a thin line of pain at the moment, and he swallowed thickly.

“Promise?” Barton ground out. “I think you’re going to disappear.”

Phil leaned over so he was close. “Not going anywhere. Promise.” He had never said words with as much conviction in his life.

Between emergency surgery and sleep, Barton was out for almost sixteen hours, enough time for Phil to coordinate the removal and care of the 084 named Seena from the HYDRA base and to authorize a transfer of Barton to the New York headquarters once he was listed as stable. Phil debriefed with Fury (including a very heated discussion about bringing Barton in to base) and was back at Barton’s bedside before he woke up.

Phil was reading a novel he’d picked up on his monthly bookstore trip when he looked up and saw Barton’s weary eyes on him. Phil tried to smile reassuringly, and Barton blinked slowly at him with confusion.

“You’re still here?”

“Well,” Phil answered, holding out a cup of water for him, “You’re still here, so I’m still here. Told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Barton didn’t answer, just drank and laid back on the bed. His right arm was wrapped tightly against his chest, and he had bruises on his face that made his paleness stand out. He looked down at his waist, where there was a thick bandage from the other bullet wound. “Banged up pretty good, huh?”

“You’re lucky,” Phil replied. “Neither bullet hit anything serious, but that waistline wound came close. Still did a lot of wrecking – your shoulder is out of commission until you can do some pretty serious PT, and they said you probably won’t walk for a couple weeks. You were in surgery for eight hours.”

“That’s why I’m on the good drugs,” Barton said with a tired grin.

“And you’ll stay on them for a while,” Phil answered. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Barton’s smile. Even drugged to the gills it was a sweet smile that made Phil want to wrap him in a blanket and bundle him home to his couch where he could ply him with hot tea and warm soup. This was weird because Phil had never really wanted anyone besides him in his space. Even Jasper joked that they only held poker night at his place because they had a turn-taking agreement.

“Is Fury pissed?” Barton asked, but he wouldn’t meet Phil’s eyes. “I’ll bet he’s pissed.”

“How much do you actually work with him?” Phil answered.

“I’ve had some meetings over the years,” Barton said. “Lemme tell you about this one time he showed up in Savannah, Georgia to pitch me an op, and I miiight have been a little drunk on this great ale that they brew right there in Savannah, so he thought he might catch up – or something – because he had one or two of those pints and he was telling me he had a cat and liked plants. Fury. With a cat. Bunch of bullshit. Even when he was tryin’ to act chummy he was still bullshit.”

The rant seemed to exhaust Barton, and Phil couldn’t help laughing. “Would it make you feel better if I told you he does have a cat?” Phil had to admit that he’d thought the same thing Barton did when he found out.

Barton’s gorgeous eyes went wide. “No fucking way does Nick Fury have a cat,” he slurred.

Phil laughed again and Clint grinned, too. “He does. It’s orange and its name is Indigo. And he loves plants but he kills them, so he only has them here where he can get someone else to water them.”

“That’s the most amazing thing I’ve heard in years,” Barton said, and then he closed his eyes and was asleep again.

Phil watched him closely, getting distracted by the way his eyelashes laid on his cheeks. He wondered about this man who had been on the periphery of SHIELD for more than two years, who seemed to be right where he belonged now. Phil went and got himself some food, took a quick shower, and settled back in at Barton’s bedside.

The fight he had with Nick over keeping Barton at base and changing his status to Specialist instead of Consultant was short and sharp, and both men played to their strengths to make their argument. Phil finally, quietly, said, “I told him about your cat.”

Nick snapped his mouth shut, swallowed, and said, “What?”

“You told him you had a cat and he thought it was an act. When he was hurt out in the field a few missions ago he asked if you’d ever bring him in out of the cold. When he was bleeding from two bullet holes four days ago he was afraid we were going to dump him at the nearest public hospital and leave him with a target on his chest. It’s time for him to come in. He’s _earned_ it,” Phil said, and he felt the rage simmering in his bones.

Nick was quiet for a minute, then he picked up a pen and said, “I’m making him your level so you can maybe work out this crush you’ve been building for years. And because no one but you is gonna want to deal with his attitude. You have no idea what a pain in the ass he is.”

Phil just nodded as all the breath left his body, and when he caught it again, he could only manage a “Thank you.”

Nick was not wrong. Barton was a pain in the ass, but he was Phil’s pain in the ass because as soon as he recovered enough to be up and around, he followed Phil like a puppy. Phil even bought a new couch for his office because Barton grumbled, “I just need a place that’s out of the fucking way of everyone.”

Three weeks after Barton started crashing on Phil’s couch and bringing Phil coffee and doughnuts, he became Clint, and despite the way he made numerous other friends, like Sitwell, who whispered to Phil one night when they all went out for beers “He’s awesome,” Phil was the one Clint came to the most.

“There’s so many people here,” Clint said at lunch one day.

They were in the main cafeteria at the New York HQ, and when Phil looked around he saw probably fifty or so other people. Phil shrugged. “We’re small compared to the CIA and FBI, but we do have international presence and two distinct US headquarters. You should see the DC office.”

Clint looked around again and shook his head. “It’s obnoxious.”

Phil grinned. Clint had started taking some classes to support his new Specialist status, and he was struggling in a couple, like International Government, but acing others, like the tech classes. His instructors said he was quiet but hardworking, and a couple had noticed how uncomfortable he seemed when asked to work in groups. “You’ll get used to it.”

Clint shrugged, and they ate in silence for a few minutes. “They say you’re the best,” Clint says quietly. He looks at Phil and pins him with his gaze, and Phil is reminded of how Clint’s eyes are a myriad of color and how they seem to look right through his defenses.

He swallowed, and said, “I’m a high ranking agent. There are others with their own strengths, and I’d hate to let Hill hear anyone say that.” He loved Maria, but her sense of competition was a bit overblown.

“You saved me, and every time I had a mission with you, you treated me like a person, not some disembodied agent who existed for one thing only. You even offered to break the rules to keep me safe. I think you’re the best.” Clint’s voice was steely and clear, and the way he was looking at Phil made his heart race.

“I think you’re amazing,” Phil answered. “I’ve thought that for two years, and all I wanted for the last year was an excuse to bring you in. I hate that it hurt so badly, but I’m ecstatic that you’re here now.”

Clint blinked and grinned, his smile shy and something that Phil suddenly wanted to kiss off of his face. How did this happen here? Sitting in the cafeteria over lunch, suddenly Phil felt like everyone else had disappeared, that they were in some quiet corner beginning something new.

“Go to dinner with me?” Phil said, and he couldn’t help the wide smile as the words left his mouth. He hadn’t asked someone on a date in over six years, but that didn’t matter. Those words had been waiting in his mouth for months.

Clint didn’t answer for a moment, but his eyes never left Phil’s, and then he nodded. “I haven’t dated anyone since I was fifteen. You should know that.”

Phil shrugged and leaned forward a little. “I don’t care. I’ve been waiting to ask you out for a long time, and that’s all I care about.”

“Are you the reason I’m not out in the wind right now, waiting on another call from Nick?” Clint asked.

Phil just nodded.

“Well, I’m grateful for that, but I’m not going to say yes just because I’m grateful,” Clint said. The words should have scared Phil a little, but there was something in the moment, in the air, that made any worry disappear. “I’m going to say yes because you’re the coolest person I’ve ever met and I’d like to see who you are outside of this damned building full of strangers.”

Phil smiled broadly at the hope and possibility in those words. “I wear jeans,” Phil said, and Clint’s face falters for a moment before he grins and nods.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Clint replies, and the moment is light and the sounds of the cafeteria start to filter back in.

“You can always take my word,” Phil said, and Clint sighed.

“I always have,” he replied, and Phil supposes he’s right. They’ve been taking each other at their word for over two years. It’s just that now he can see what that means to Clint, and Clint can see what it means to Phil.

That’s how it’s supposed to work.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> While this isn't anything like them nor is it anywhere near as good, there are a couple other fics where Phil and Clint don't meet face-to-face for a long time. I didn't think about it until I'd already written much of this, but I'm not going to deny any influence, because they're excellent.


End file.
